My Kid
by stupidfinewriterchick
Summary: Bruce finds himself feeling all kinds of strange and foreign emotions that come with raising a son.


Being a dad is _so_ weird.

But it's also kinda cool.

It's really cool, actually.

Decidedly, very cool.

But still weird.

Because with these newfound parental responsibilities come all these strange and newfound parental emotions that were once completely foreign to Bruce. He can't even explain what these emotions are, only the moments when they suddenly blossom in his chest.

Like when a mission leads them to an old abandoned and slightly scary warehouse, it's the way the kid inches closer and closer to Bruce the further in they go, until he's practically right under him, asking in a shaky voice, "W-what's Batman's policy on holding h-hands?" Bruce's first instinct is to blow a raspberry and defiantly assure him that hand-holding is not part of Batman's regime. But one look at the kid, who trembles and shakes with fear, and all Bruce can do is sigh and take his small hand into his own.

Driving the kid to school every morning isn't a part of Batman's regime either, but Alfred is adamant. And so when Bruce drags himself out of bed, barely awake, and drives his little Lego Lamborghini to the school, it's the way the kid excitedly bounces in his seat before hopping out of the car with a quick, "Bye, dad!" and running off. Bruce calls, "Bye, kid!" in return, a smile tugging at his lips, and on his way home, he hums a little to himself, deciding that perhaps it won't be so bad to do this every morning.

At the end of a long and eventful day, it's the way the kid slouches in his seat at the dinner table, snoring softly, still fully dressed in his superhero costume.

"It's your own fault, Master Bruce," Alfred chimes with a barely concealed smirk. "You were the one who told him he didn't have a bedtime."

"Ha ha," Bruce says with a roll of his eyes. Then he hefts the kid into his arms and carries him to bed, the kid's head resting on his shoulder.

When the curtain falls, it's how loudly Bruce claps and cheers, and how the kid grins from ear to ear, catching his eye and offering the tiniest of waves as he and the other children take a bow.

The other kids are mediocre at best, but his kid excels.

He catches the thought as soon as it pops into his head.

His kid.

He smiles.

 _My_ kid.

It's how fast he runs, heart hammering in his chest.

It's the forced optimism in the kid's voice as he's precariously dangled over a pool of molten lava, lowered slowly, inch by inch.

It's the primal instinct that kicks in as Bruce makes a running dive, flying so low that the tip of his cape singes and burns.

He slams into the kid, arms wrapping around him, and uses his jet pack to fly them to safety.

"Oh gosh, oh my gosh, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you get burned?"

The words spill out of his mouth as he dances around the kid, checking for any sign of injury.

"I'm fine! I'm not hurt!" is the slightly muffled reply as Bruce maneuvers the kid's head around, checking for a concussion or a contusion or any kind of head trauma that could potentially cause brain damage.

Only when he's totally convinced that the kid is truly unharmed does he wrap him in the biggest hug he's ever given in his entire life, ignoring the kid's cry surprise, ignoring Barbara's reminder that they need to keep moving, ignoring everything else around them.

Please, just give him a moment.

Because he needs this moment.

He needs to convey all the worry and fear and relief and joy into this one, simple physical contact.

Because he almost lost him.

His kid.

My kid.

 _My son._

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, pulling away one more time and looking into the kid's largely magnified eyes.

"Of course I am, dad!" is the kid's cheerful reply, completely unfazed by the near-death experience, and he chases after Barbara, leaving Bruce to stand frozen and watch him leave.

Bruce takes a shaky breath.

Releases a heavy one.

Then he joins them, returning the kid's smile as they run side by side, his words still echoing in his brain.

Dad.

 _Dad._

I'm this kid's dad.

This kid is my son.

Wow.

This is so weird.

But it's nice.


End file.
